


Butterbeerbeard

by withering_snowflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 20:50:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withering_snowflowers/pseuds/withering_snowflowers
Summary: It’s a game, a silly game that you had developed by not wiping away the foam on your lips.





	Butterbeerbeard

**Author's Note:**

> Written somewhere in 2017.  
> I apologize for my inactiveness by tossing this old fic in, so you won't die because of the impatience. I am struggling with life, I am so sorry.  
> Worth will have to wait OTL
> 
> Unfortunately I couldn't insert a picture despite several attempts. Below I Inserted a link to the picture that inspired this fanfic. It's a safe link to tumblr. So check it out without any worries. ♥

[[Inspired by this]](http://accioron.tumblr.com/post/10894324411)

It was your first time going to Hogsmeade after you had missed the primary date. Snape had sentenced you to a week of detention because he had overheard you whispering that his greasy hair looked like black flobberworms when he was stalking past you in the hallway. That, and fifteen points from Gryffindor. It was worth it.

Your friends had come back at the end of the day, excitedly telling you about the various shops like Zonko’s Joke Shop or the Honeydukes whose pastries had still tasted like heaven despite being carried and squashed around for hours. Hermione had bought you several strange looking sweets which turned out to be the best thing you had ever eaten and you yearned for more, yearned for all these wicked things that you had only heard of in your friend’s stories.

Finally, you were able to see everything yourself.

And the Honeydukes was perfect, legendary. Candies in every shape and sizes, decorating the shelves with their different hues of colours. There were shades of blue that you didn’t even know existed. From midnight blue to baby blue, it all was available and nicely packaged; ready to be bought.

Everything smelled absolutely gorgeous, promising an explosion of flavors as soon as the hard candy would touch your tongue. You were in heaven.

Yet there were these obnoxious kinds of sweets too, looking so tasty in their boxes, eagerly waiting to be consumed, only to turn out tasting like poo or puke. After not so long time of seriously considering, you purchased some of these particular kinds, planning to offer them to all of your most annoying classmates (or teachers)

Next was Zonko’s Joke Shop. You especially loved the dungbombs and nose-biting cups and Hermione had to practically drag you out of this silly store. She still had to purchase a few books and you reluctantly joined her with a heavy heart and longing back glances. You were definitely going to come back for these items; if you still had some money left.

It seemed that rounding up the day with a visit at the Three Broomsticks had somewhat become a tradition between the students and even teachers. The inn was packed with lively conversations and cheerful laughter. In every corner, you could see people and at every table people sat closer to eat other, talking, eating, smiling. And it smelled good, you noticed. You had immediately liked the warm and cozy atmosphere that had surrounded you as soon as you stepped into the room.

Hermione, Ron, Harry and you sat down at the last free wooden table and the boys left to get you that dubious but apparently delicious drink called Butterbeer.

You could tell by the cold air that the door was once again opened. February sure was cold.

“Hey guys,” Fred and George joined your table.

“Hey Fred. George,” Hermione nodded before her nose disappeared behind her newly purchased book.

“Greetings,” you absentmindedly mumbled your eyes already focused on Ron and Harry who were coming up to you, each of them carrying you ordered stuff.

They slid your cup over with a thunk.

“So what is this thing called again?” you asked while leaning down to look at the honey coloured liquid in that clear mug in front of you.

“Butterbeer,” Ron replied already munching on the pastries that he had just purchased from the Honeydukes. The youngest Weasley slapped his brother’s hand, as George sneakily tried to steal one of his cream filled éclairs. In an instant these two were in a small fight, bickering as usual and Harry rolled his eyes, turning towards you.

“It’s really good, I swear,” Harry added, already sipping on his beverage. He had already emptied it halfway while yours was still full, peacefully bubbling. You threw him an unsure look; even though you didn’t really know why on earth you were so fidgety about this. Maybe it was because you had never really liked butterscotch.

“Drink up, it’ll warm you nicely,” Hermione nudged you when she caught you still eyeing the foaming Butterbeer with such skepticism. Your classmate closed her book and leaned closer to ask Harry something about Hippogriffs.

Curiously glancing around, you noticed there was almost nobody, who wasn’t drinking it. So it must be really good you assumed. And then, finally you lifted the hot mug and took a small anxious sip.

The strong flavour of butterscotch filled your mouth but it was unexpectedly pleasant. It seemed astringent, yet sweet and the foam reminded you of rich heavy cream, like cheesecake with coffee. It was ambrosia disguised as butterbeer. The liquid left a slight burning feeling in your throat, warming your cold body from the inside; as if someone had just lit a fire.

You absolutely loved it.

Now that you knew how it tasted, you dared to take a bigger gulp; savoring its unique taste on your lips and feeling it spread in your mouth.

It was then when you noticed Fred staring at you, on his face an amused smirk. You titled your head and furrowed your brows, not catching on why he was so entertained.

“You look like Lupin,” he whispered and drew the outlines of his lips with his fingers. You imitated his gestures, followed his motion until your fingers touched something sticky. The older Weasley twin broke into laughter when you embarrassedly licked the foam of your upper lips, hiding your reddening face behind your hands.

Fred Weasley watched how the colour of your face rapidly changed into a deep shade of crimson, definitely beating the redness of a tomato. And he found it adorable the way you hid behind your hands to lick off all of the fluffy cream foam.

The ginger couldn’t help but chuckle when he caught you timidly sipping on your drink, careful not to let that happen again. But you failed miserably and that he loved even more.

* * *

 

Somehow, you had found yourself sitting at one of the tables, surrounded by the twins and your friends only several months later. While Ron and Hermione were bickering about something not so important, Harry was wrapped into another conversation, engaged by Neville Longbottom. This time, Ginny, who was a year below, had joined you as well and the two of you were now deeply engrossed in a discussion about Quidditch.

“This year is going to be great,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips and her hazel eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“I agree,” your voice sounded higher than usual, you were just too happy for them.

“Triwizard Tournament. Quidditch World Cup,” you then reverentially breathed, “Man, I totally forgot that you were there.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she dryly answered, not buying your statement at all and she firmly clasped your hands. “Krum was there too.”

“Yeah, I know! Tell me about him! It must have been so much cooler, being there at the stadium. You don’t see much of him here.“

“Naturally,” she smiled once again and squeezed your hand one more time before finally releasing them.

“So at first, there were the Irish…”

“What are you girls talking about?” Fred flopped down next to you, interrupting your talk. He was wearing his usual trademark smirk, something so contagious, your lips automatically moved up as well.

“Boys,” you lied without batting an eyelid.

“Yup,” Ginny agreed with coolly leaning on your shoulder with one arm.

 

Quidditch was your secret, your passion. Like Ginny, you had grown up in a house full of older brothers and of course, they had never included you in their fierce matches in the large garden.

“You’re too small,” they had said and comfortingly patted you on your head before mounting their brooms, leaving you standing there while they took off for a flight, for a savage match. But you had enough, had enough of hearing all these dull words, all these meaningless excuses. You had loved Quidditch ever since you were little. And you definitely were going to play, definitely going to fly.

You had tried it for the first time the summer before entering Hogwarts; with shaking fingers and a wild thumping heart. This was probably how the baby birds would have felt before setting off for their first flight. But unlike them, you had no protective mother present, watching over you with the eyes of a hag.

Feeling the wind encouragingly brush through your tied up hair, you breathed in to calm your nerves, gathering all the courage you needed.

And you mounted your broom that you had nicked from your elder sibling and took off just like your brothers did countless times.

Meeting Ginny was the best thing that had happened to your life; because you had finally been able to share your thoughts and experiences with someone who had been through the same as you. She was like you, fierce and witty, but quick enough to be able to distinguish between risk and fun. The youngest Weasley and you had practiced countless times as soon as she was allowed to apply for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. And blimey, that girl rocked this sport.

Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like you were good enough, so despite being in your fourth year, you haven’t applied for the trials,  _ever_. But Ginny and you had locked your pinkies, with glowing faces and sweat running down your spines beneath your robes, making the promise that the two of you were definitely going to apply next year.

 

“So Ginny, tell us about this boy, Michael Corner, that you keep staring at?” George casually mentioned. He had appeared out of nowhere and questioningly raised his eyebrows when his sister blushed in a deep shade of red.

The younger Weasley twin playfully engaged her into another conversation – or more like a small interrogation.

You chuckled and took the time to get a sip of your Butterbeer that had been waiting for you like a well-behaved puppy.

“So what about Quidditch have you been talking about?” his deep, smooth voice sent shivers down your spine. You had totally forgotten that Fred was there as well.

“Mhm?” you turned to face him, setting the heavy mug down.

He snorted and pointed at his lips, a deeply amused smile was playing along. You laughed somewhat sheepishly, uncomfortably as you licked the foam away. It was like a repeated play, a déjà vu. You didn’t notice how Fred’s eyes were unable to leave your mouth, how he gulped.

“Sorry,” your voice sounded hoarse.

“Don’t sweat it, Lupin,” his brown eyes twinkled mischievously and you noticed that when he smiled, his lips didn’t curl as much as George’s did. It was a small adorable difference.

“So, Quidditch,” he repeated and you sighed, hoping that he had forgotten about it while he was laughing about your little Butterbeer fiasco.

“I just like it. That’s it.”

Fred moved so unexpectedly close that your vision blurred and you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The ginger-haired stared at you, squinting his eyes on purpose; which immediately took all of his seriousness. Despite that, you were well aware of the fact that he was watching your very movements, paying attention to every tiny reaction that you could possibly give. But all he could see was how your pupils dilated.

“Okay,” he abruptly jerked back with a small chuckle, somewhat content. He let you slip this time.

But what you didn’t know, was that he was going to train with you in your fifth year. That it was going to be him who had come up to you after a Quidditch session with Ginny, with a teasing remark on his tongue.

“Okay,” you muttered breathlessly, trying to calm your pounding heart.

* * *

 

You anxiously unlocked the thin timber door, careful not to attract too much attention. It was useless anyway, as the door loudly creaked as soon as you opened it.

The air was smelled somewhat grouchy and it was so cold, despite the fact that it was supposed to protect you from the coolness outside. Cursing under your breath, you stepped into the run-down inn that Hermione had chosen for your meet up. Your first glance told you that there was nobody here yet, except your three friends. So you weren’t late. Ron waved from afar as you walked past all these shady, suspicious looking persons that were sitting crouched at the walls; each one clutching dented metal cups.

“God, why did you choose this shabby place? The Hog’s Head,  _really_?

“I thought we could have much more privacy that way,” Hermione explained and you nodded, now understanding that this was indeed extremely thoughtful; just as you would have expected it from her.

You flopped down on the seat next to Harry who seemed rather nervous or upset, or both. You weren’t really sure.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. Don’t worry about it. You’re the best and we’re here with you.” you nudged his arm and he gave you a genuine smile even though he didn’t seem fully convinced.

And then, slowly the room filled with more students, pupils from all the houses were interested in getting  _real_ lessons, were interested in learning how to defend themselves.

They were tired of reading boring reports and copying down dull phrases that they had now learned by heart without even grasping their meaning.

Though the majority still seemed more wary, cautious and guarded of this idea of a very own Defence Against The Dark Arts class. It was the fear of getting caught and their disbelief and malicious prejudice against Harry that poisoned their brains and quickened their insults.

However, your friend with the unique scar on his forehead, that very extraordinary friend had managed it well, not wasting any time when one especially skeptical boy, Zacharia Smith, started to pester him with questions about his meeting with Lord Voldemort last year.

It was one of the twins who then spoke, telling the crowd about the things that Harry was able to do and there was so much pride in their faces.

They gathered closer, sticking their heads together, intently listening to what Harry had to say, hanging on his lips and sucking up every word as sponge did with liquid.

Sometime along the talk, the twins had gotten each of them a mug of Butterbeer, filled in these iron cups with countless dents.

Hermione had brought a parchment roll and in the end, everyone came, putting their scrawled, messy signature in black ink beneath the title of your small organization.

_Dumbledore’s Army_

It felt strange, to see your name staring back at you, painfully visible to all the confidence and members, yet it was exciting, rebellious and exhilarating.

You raised the glass, rounding up the whole meeting like a ceremony and the next sounds were only metal clinking against each other with a hollow clunk.

Your eyes met Fred’s and the two of you solemnly smiled before once again he raised the glass. It was like a silent conversation was held in this sole look and you caught George staring at you with a secretive grin on his face.

It wasn’t quite the surprise when the first thing Fred did was to point at his lips. You just snorted, louder than intended and copied his action. It had become a sort of game, a game with only him and you as players. A game which rules only both of you knew; toning it down to lots of teasing and riddled remarks accompanied by evocative glances and which meanings you didn’t even understand yourselves.

“Hey Lupin,” you giggled and he chuckled, licking off the foam with laughing eyes and smiling lips.

“Hey Lupin yourself,” he snickered back.

Fred and George Weasley left school later that year and oh, they did properly say goodbye to the school that had been their second home for almost seven years.

It came in shape of bursting fireworks in colors that reminded you of the sweets from Honeydukes and brilliantly planned pranks and joke items. It was their last present to your despicable principal, to the malevolent lady in pink who had been responsible for the crimson red letters on Harry’s hand which would never fade away.

And they summoned their imprisoned brooms with such coolness, so quiet, almost relaxed before leaving a gaping crowd and a furious Dolores Umbridge behind. Harry had slung an arm around you as the two of you watched their graceful leave but it was your chest that felt like being squashed under bricks.

It took days to clean the remains of their prank and funnily, none of the teachers had bothered to clean the mess up quite to your amusement, up until the very last moment.

Strangely, you didn’t feel happy though. Days passed where you just sat in the common room, staring outside the window with your eyes fixed to the direction of where the Quidditch Pitch was located. You were studying for the O.W.L.s too, yes; to be honest you were doing fairly well with your revisions. You were progressing with your spells and charms too, now that the DA had to be put to halt after getting caught by Dolores Umbridge and the Inquisitory Squad.

But somehow, you weren’t really satisfied with yourself and something was missing. Something significant which you hadn’t entirely figured out.

At least not until Ginny spoke out loud what your heart was probably feeling all along, what your brain had just refused to realize.

“Never thought I would say this, but I miss Fred and George.”

“Huh?” you had looked at her with a puzzled look, unable to grasp the meaning behind these few simple words.

“There’s something missing, you know? They were always here and now they aren’t. They’re off opening a Joke Shop with capital from god-knows-where. And things are so dull and boring,” she continued and you realized how good their relationship was, how strong their sibling bond was.

“Yeah, these mischievous gits are gone now, it sure is different…”

 

Year five ended with a wrecked Ministry of Magic basement, a huge loss for the Order of Phoenix and Harry once again being able to escape out of Lord Voldemort’s grasp. It ended with shock and injuries and nightmares and racing hearts even during peaceful times. Something that none of you had never really been able to process ever since you woke up in the Hospital Wing.

A storm was coming and you could already see the clouds turning grey and the wind picking up. There was a storm coming and it was going to be just as devastating and cruel as the last one.

 

Until your hands grasped this small note in your Quidditch robe, slipped, hidden, carefully concealed, into your pocket at an unknown time. Making sure that it could only be you who found it. And your heart leapt and sunk to where your stomach was, continuing its beat along with a tickling sensation.

A note with messy, scrawled writing, scribbled in hurry; yet it was so distinctive, so clear. Black ink unequivocally glowing on brown parchment paper.

_Meet me at Number 93 Diagon Alley._

_\- F_

* * *

 

He had sent you concerned letters with Ron’s small quirky owl, Pigwidgeon, asking you for your well being, playfully reminding you to eat and sleep properly. You could almost hear his mischievous tone through all the letters. He was surely imitating his mother, making fun of the always worried woman.

George and him had been extremely busy, setting up their business and even though it was as flourishing as their Pygmy Puff breeding, Fred had still been able to reply to your letter every now and then.

His invitations had gotten clearer and clearer with each time but as much as you wanted to go, there was no way that your parents would let you go and visit an older boy who had just founded something serious like a Joke Shop.

So it was really at the end of summer when you met up with Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, after your long-awaited O.W.L results had been delivered. Like the past years, some shopping was needed to be done and together with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the seven of you travelled to Diagon Alley.

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was far more than you had imagined. It was painted in shrill red colors with a huge statue of …was it Fred? You couldn’t really tell due to the abstract features. Shrill, exploding colors on posters and walls. There were shrieks and screams and giggles in the packed shop as children accidentally got lured in the small traps. Loads of people were walking around, exploring the depths of this magical place.

You were simply stunned by the variety of products, by their broad range. They were fruits for their brilliance and proof that you could do anything if you kept trying, kept believing.

“It’s amazing, right?”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” you breathlessly answered, still staring at all these filled shelves.

Wait, this male voice didn’t belong to Ron…or Harry. You turned around to see the very owner himself - at least one of them. He looked well in his extravagant and flashy suit.

“Fred you busy bee! How are you?” overwhelmed with happiness of seeing him you crushed him into a big hug. A naughty grin appeared on his handsome face and he unconsciously pulled you closer, burying his nose in your good smelling hair. And it wasn’t just your heartbeat that had increased at a concerning rate.

 

Images of DA lessons rushed back, you had sent him flying and were laughing at the ginger-haired boy who lying a few metres away from you, was rubbing the spot where he landed.

Someone had yelled  _“Stupefy”_ and suddenly you found yourself on top of a warm body, squeezing down the Weasley brother who had just been your enemy a few minutes ago.

“ _Missed me much_?” he had whispered with a flirty grin and you felt your cheeks redden.

“You’re still so small,” he then noted after releasing you, looking down at you with these brown eyes. Rich molten chocolate mixed with cocoa powder and pistachio sprinkles.

“I’ve already grown!” you protested but you weren’t offended at all. When you looked up, you found him still staring at you with an unreadable expression and it reminded you of the look that he had given you last year after Quidditch practice.

“Of course,” he mumbled even though he seemed to be slightly distracted by something.

“I should join the others. You’re incredibly busy,” you awkwardly attempted to escape this situation.

“Rubbish. In fact, I was about to take a lunch break. Care to join me for a Butterbeer and some food?”

“Fred, it’s 10 in the morning.”

“That’s exactly why,”

“George, I’m going out for a while,” the older Weasley twin then yelled. His brother stuck his head out of the backside and nodded, a big annoying grin plastered on his face.

“Gonna take her with me,” he gestured towards you and George’s already broad grin got even wider.

“Come then,” Fred grabbed your hand and the two of you exited the shop.

“But your parents-”

“It’ll be alright.”

* * *

 

“I wanted to see you sooner,” he quietly told you when you sat down in a rather cozy corner of the Leaky Cauldron, well shielded by curious looks of strangers. 

Not that this pub was well visited today. In fact, it was rather empty and there was only Tom, the bartender.

“It’s fine. You’ve been busy,” you averted your eyes and grasped your mug, not standing his piercing gaze. It made you dizzy and all dazed. The syrupy colored liquid slightly swayed when you lifted the cup. He could see all the unsaid words in your eyes.

“To Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” raising the glass you now had the courage to get another glimpse of his handsome features.

“To George and me,” he proudly confirmed and your glasses joined for a soft clink. And you took a big sip of the popular beverage.

And things were going to be like always you thought; you could’ve licked the foam off the moment you set the mug back down. Because of course, naturally, your lips were going to be coated in white after being dipped in the foam to be able to drink. It was impossible to avoid it; you had tried and failed miserably and ended up with more of the cream-colored bubbling cream on your lips.

However, it was your silly game, your shared memory, rules that you had agreed on without uttering any words. This so-called Butterbeerbeard had to stay on your lips, even if it was on purpose.

 

Whether you had seen that coming or not didn’t really matter.

Maybe that was inevitably the goal of your game.

You didn’t know. You didn’t care. Because all along he had already had your heart, and apparently you had his as well.

 

Fred had pressed his warm lips on yours before you could even lift your fingers. He tasted like butterscotch and heavy cream and sweetness as he tangled your lips in a passionate, ambrosia coated kiss, making sure to properly and diligently clean all the foam away.

His tongue traced the contours of your lips and your hands met at the nape of his neck, threading and playing with his soft red hair. A blissful sigh escaped your lips and he groaned, shivered, sending tickling vibrations. You giggled and briefly moved your head, but he cupped your face and gently pulled you back, back to where his lips were.

At last; too soon -you were too bemused to judge - he backed away and your gasps mixed while your noses touched.

“I’ve wanted to do this since…well  _forever_ ,” he sounded hoarse but so incredibly happy.

You moved away and something in his look faltered; something in his eyes changed. You took another gulp of your mug.

“Do it again then,” your rosy lips curled, invitingly and Fred thought his heart was going to stop beating. He just wanted to conquer them again, making them his and only his.

“Gladly.”

 


End file.
